


The Vermont Album

by riversfire



Category: Supernatural, The Decoy Bride (2011)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe, B&B In Vermont, Canonical Character Death, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gabriel in a wheelchair, Hypothermia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Rock Star Dean, Sharing Body Heat, Writer Castiel, terminal illness of a minor character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 18:08:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8926969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riversfire/pseuds/riversfire
Summary: Castiel did not plan for it to happen like this.
To be fair, Castiel doubted that anyone in existence had imagination enough to plan something like this for themselves. Well, except for maybe Becky Rosen, who was a notorious day dreamer and a schemer to boot.
In fact, if anyone was behind it, it would have been her. Though Castiel knew her well enough to surmise that if she had had any say in this at all, it would have been her wearing this wedding dress instead of him.
Just his luck, Becky was out of town with some guy named Chuck she met online and he was stuck in the dress. Probably literally stuck, come to think of it. His luck was turning out in full form today.
And now he was sitting in the tower of a castle, studiously avoiding the gaze of Dean Winchester of all people, in an honest-to-God wedding dress, wondering how in the world he got himself into this mess.
It all started when he came back home.





	1. How Did This Happen?

**Author's Note:**

> The Decoy Bride au because that is a great movie and cuz have you seen that pic of Misha in a wedding dress?  
> Don't question it, I'm doing you a favor.
> 
> Basically it’s the plot of The Decoy Bride with Supernatural characters, so you don’t need to have seen the movie at all (although you should watch it) it's not necessary. Just read it and enjoy.

Castiel did not plan for it to happen like this.

To be fair, Castiel doubted that anyone in existence had imagination enough to plan something like this for themselves. Well, except for maybe Becky Rosen, who was a notorious day dreamer and a schemer to boot.

In fact, if anyone was behind it, it would have been her. Though Castiel knew her well enough to surmise that if she had had any say in this at all, it would have been her wearing this wedding dress instead of him.

Just his luck, Becky was out of town with some guy named Chuck she met online and he was stuck in the dress. Probably literally stuck, come to think of it. His luck was turning out in full form today.

And now he was sitting in the tower of a castle, studiously avoiding the gaze of Dean Winchester of all people, in an honest-to-God wedding dress, wondering how in the world he got himself into this mess.

It all started when he came back home.

…

Castiel Novak stood still in the back of the boat as the wind rushed by him. It lifted his dark hair in curling tendrils and sent chills through his trench coat, but he stood straight and still all the same. To anyone outside of Castiel’s head, that might have seemed strange. But anyone inside of Castiel’s head could see that he was just that distracted. Well distracted probably doesn’t cover it. Castiel was sad. Maybe even devastated. But definitely full of dread. 

As he leaned against the peeling paint of the dirty grey boat and watched the churning water left in its wake, he played with the plain gold ring held tensely between his fingers. The mark it had made on his left hand after so many months of wearing it had long since faded, but the ring itself was reminder enough of what it meant. He was 32, divorced, and going back to living at home with his brother. On an island that didn’t even have a proper ferry. 

Castiel sighed and took a deep breath before gathering the ring into his fist and tossing it overboard. He wasn’t going to need it anymore anyway.

...

Once the boat docked and Castiel disembarked with his carryon rolling suitcase in his arms, the real fun began. He hadn’t told Gabriel he was coming, so there was no one waiting to pick him up. He carried the suitcase up the beach, slipping on the rocks as he went. As he trudged the familiar path he thanked God somewhat ironically that the airport lost his other suitcase, with which he would otherwise be struggling right this very moment.

“Good to know God has my back,” he huffed as he stepped into a hidden puddle of mud.

When the Sunshine Bed and Breakfast finally came into view, it was a welcome sight. If only because it was November and really quite cold to be walking outside with wet shoes. Castiel dug his key out of his pocket and fit it into the lock, swinging the door open unceremoniously. He was greeted by a series of very loud, very obnoxious bells signaling his arrival, to which he rolled his eyes vigorously. He dragged his suitcase inside and closed the door. His shoes squelched uncomfortably as he hung his dirty trench coat in the closet, and Castiel stooped down to tug them off. Once the bells quieted down he could hear the tell-tale signs of a wheelchair coming towards him, so he stood up straight and braced himself for what was coming.

“Cassie?” a shocked voice let out from the door at the end of the entryway. Castiel met his brother’s eyes somewhat guiltily, but Gabriel didn’t miss a beat. “Well come on over here and give your old brother a hug,” he said. Castiel knew better than to deny Gabriel anything when he’d just showed up to his house uninvited, so he shuffled over and obliged. Gabriel loved making people bend over awkwardly to hug him in his chair.

After Castiel had straightened up, Gabriel motioned for him to turn the chair around and push him back through the house. Once again, he obliged. “Are you okay?” Gabriel asked nonchalantly to the air behind him.

“I’m fine,” Castiel replied loudly.

“Are you sure?” Gabriel needled.

“I’m fine.” Castiel repeated; but his voice cracked a bit when he said it.

“Well that’s good. Just so long as you’re fine,” Gabriel said with raised eyebrows as Castiel brought the chair to a gentle stop in the kitchen. “I’m making tea.”

“Tea sounds good.”

… 

An hour later, they were still sitting at the table in the kitchen. As Gabriel finished up his latest loud and improbable story with a wicked grin, he changed tack before Castiel could so much as smile noncommittally. 

“I don’t suppose you’re in the mood for a wedding,” Gabriel said. 

Castiel shrugged from his chair at the table. “It can’t get any worse.”

The two set off on the walk to the chapel, Castiel still in the slightly mud-speckled suit he came in and Gabriel wearing a festive sweater with two white doves kissing inside a ribbon heart. 

“So no ring, huh?” Gabriel asked as they made their way. At Castiel’s silence, Gabriel pressed on. “You should’ve listened to me from the start, little bro. April was never right for you.”

“I know,” Castiel sighed. “But, well. She took me out of this place.” He squinted in thoughtful disgust. “I thought she was an angel, but she was—“

“A devil? A witch? No, I know. She *was* an angel. An angel of *death*.” 

“Gabriel,” Castiel started.

“There is somebody out there for you,” Gabriel interrupted. “Somebody selfless and faithful and kind. But you’ll never meet them if you’re hiding here.”

“Good. I don’t want to meet them,” Castiel ground out.

“Oh come now. You can’t deprive them of the pure sex that is Castiel Novak. Women love you. You’re like kryptonite to men.”

“Isn’t kryptonite a bad thing?”

“Oh my god, Cassie I’m so proud that you know that. Anyway, we’re here.” Gabriel wheeled himself out of Castiel’s grasp and into the doorway of the church. “Hello Mabel, Castiel’s back,” he said to the old woman at the door.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Are we late?” he asked.

“Too late to marry him,” the old woman replied. “Quick, get inside.”

Castiel swung the heavy door open and stepped inside. Immediately, the bridal march began and everyone turned in their seats to look at him. Castiel froze, his eyes sweeping up the aisle to the man at the altar. The music stopped abruptly. 

“Sorry,” Cas croaked out. “Hello, Inias.” Castiel stepped awkwardly to the side to join Gabriel, who had snuck in behind him and was now no-so-silently shaking with mirth. 

“You’re too late, Castiel,” said a voice from the doorway. “He’s mine, now.”

The music started up again and Castiel watched forlornly as Bartholomew made his way to the front.

…

Castiel had never been a big fan of parties, but this one was particularly painful. It was all he could do not to put his head in his hands and break down next to the punch bowl while Gabriel made a fool of himself running over people’s toes on the dance floor. He had just decided to put his escape plan into action when he turned around and nearly smacked right into Inias.

“Castiel,” Inias said. “How long are you back for?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel replied, truthfully. “I’m thinking of staying.”

“I thought you said nothing ever happened here,” Inias said, eyes narrowed.

“Well, nothing happening is becoming very appealing.”

They both looked down at their shoes.

“I truly hope you’ll be—” Castiel looked up. Inias was gone. Castiel breathed out. “Happy.”

…

The next morning, Castiel made his way to the bookstore before Gabriel even got up. To be fair, Gabriel had had a lot of liquor the night before, so it was really not that early. The bookstore was Castiel’s favorite store on Isle la Motte. It was run by a couple of little old ladies, one of which was a little out of it and always thought Castiel was her late husband. They didn’t just sell books, but music and odds-and-ends too. Castiel thought there was a sort of human dignity in a homey place like that.

When he stepped inside, the ladies were all gathered behind the counter, sitting in the rocking chairs lined up in a row.

“Castiel! You’re back!” Muriel said.

“Yes,” Castiel replied. “I ran out of ways to describe pockets,” he explained.

“That’s too bad,” Hester chimed in. “For the menswear catalog,” she added. “I bet they’ll regret letting you slip through their fingers.”

Castiel smiled wanly.

“Now you’ve got time to write what you want to,” Muriel said. “I’m telling you: ‘Isle la Motte: a History, the Definitive Guide’ by Castiel Novak. We sell it here, we split the proceeds.”

“A guidebook. To here. Yes, I can see it now: ‘come see our disused toilet that may or may not be haunted by the ghost of a drowned cow,’” Castiel joked.

“You see?” asked Hester. “You need to channel this creative energy. Or you’ll get restless and go wandering off again.”

“I’m just not sure the guidebook will sell. No one ever comes here anymore.” Castiel was cut off by Muriel shoving a paper in his face. He took it and read it curiously. “A marketing conference? Here?”

“They want my castle,” Muriel said excitedly. “As is, for a week.”

“They’ll have money, too,” Hester added.

“No throwing yourself at the visitors,” Sheila interjected. “You’re just so pretty, Charles.”

…

Castiel went home after that to make something for the hangover Gabriel was sure to have. And to tell him about the marketers, since he knew it would get him excited. Sure enough, as soon as Gabriel heard the news he insisted they go outside and clean the Bed and Breakfast sign—by which it turned out he meant that Castiel would clean and he would supervise. After a long while of working in which the sign got only marginally cleaner, Castiel stopped for a break.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to go in and get your coat?” he asked. “I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

“I’m dying either way,” was Gabriel’s reply.

Unfortunately, Castiel couldn’t argue with that. Gabriel had been sick for a long time now.

“No, what I need is to get out of here,” Gabriel continued. “Cassie, I gotta do something. Travel the world, drink strawberry daiquiris, be thrown into a volcano.” He threw the rag he was holding into the bucket on the ground resignedly. “But you need money for that.”

It was just a short while later that a strange shiny black car pulled up.

“If they ask, tell them we had two stars but they fell off,” Gabriel whispered out of the side of his mouth as it approached. When the car stopped and the window rolled down, Gabriel put on his most charming smile and his game show host demeanor. “Hello, and welcomeeee to the Sunshine, the only Bed and Breakfast open on Isle la Motte! It’s your lucky day! We have rooms available!”

The blonde man driving the car took off his sunglasses and tucked them into his tailored suit pocket. “We’re looking for the castle,” he said in a bored sounding British accent. “We’re…”—he waved his hand—“marketing people.”

“Why I’d be happy to take you there,” Gabriel said. “For twenty dollars.”

“Gabriel,” Castiel said, glaring. He turned to the man and smiled. “I’ll take you.” 

The door to the backseat opened from the inside and Castiel got in.

…

Castiel sat wedged between the door and somebody apparently named Alfie, who in no way looked old enough to be at a marketing conference but seemed very kind. Next to him on the far side was a very large man named Uriel, in the front was a pleasant-looking woman named Hannah, and the blond man in the driver’s seat turned out to be named Balthazar. All in all, it was looking to be one of Castiel’s weirder days. 

When they finally arrived at the old castle, they spilled out of the car like a breath of fresh air. The castle was not really a castle. It was some sort of military fort that had been mostly torn down, then repurposed into a house and then a B&B and then left to fall into disrepair once the tourists stopped coming. But it was the only thing remotely like a castle on the island, so Castiel had no doubt this was the correct place.

Still, he stood there uncertainly as the group stared up at the building like they were looking at a train wreck and couldn’t peel their eyes away.

“Spectacular,” Balthazar finally breathed out. “We’re dead.” He looked around at his colleagues and noticed Castiel still standing there. “You can go,” he told him, motioning with one of his hands. And then he was off, stalking towards the entrance to the building. 

Castiel narrowed his eyes in confusion but did as he was told. As he left, he heard Hannah say “she’s not going to blame YOU, Balthazar. She’s a reasonable woman.”

Castiel didn’t know what all that was about. But whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.


	2. What Am I Doing Here?

Dean Winchester sighed as he stepped off the little grey boat and felt his boot fill with water. The long boat ride had not been dry by any stretch of the imagination, but at least his feet weren’t wet for it. The water was cold as balls, too. And the last thing he needed was cold feet. No, he was not even going to think about that. He reached out to offer his arm to his fiancé, but she was already climbing out on her own, eager to show off her grand surprise. Dean raised his eyebrows at her as she laughed at the cold water lapping at her feet. 

“So where are we exactly?” Dean asked.

“You know where we are,” Carmen replied, eyes narrowed playfully.

“Do I?” Dean asked with an exaggerated squint. He was getting more confused by the second.

Carmen paused on the rocky beach to turn around and watch the sun set, catching Dean’s arms around her waist and pulling him in. Dean snuggled into her hair from behind and resolutely tried not to think about his cold feet. Carmen sighed contentedly. “It’s just how you described it.”

Dean blanked and then suddenly he understood. “We’re on Isle la Motte?” Dean asked.

“Of course,” Carmen replied. “Don’t you remember it from your many research trips? I can’t believe we didn’t think of it before. It’s so perfect.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, uncomfortable. He frowned and pulled her tighter.

“Sing me the song?”

Dean could never say no to Carmen. He sang, and they swayed together in the breeze (which felt to Dean more like gale-force winds, but whatever) for a few moments until the car that was waiting honked for them to get a move on.

As they sat in the back of the car together, Dean stared out the window. He did not know this place. Had never been here. Had let people believe what they wanted to believe and now it was going to bite him in the ass. What the hell did he get himself into this time? By the time the car stopped, night had fallen. Dean got out of the car and got his first look at the place they would be staying for the next week—and sucked in a breath. It was the castle. The one from the song. The song on his best-selling ‘Vermont’ album. The album that he didn’t really actually even write because he had never been to Vermont. Crap.

He blinked away the surprise and then hurried to catch up to Carmen, who was already at the door being greeted by Balthazar. At least Balthazar looked comfortingly familiar, in his black skinny jeans and even blacker v-neck. When Dean finally joined them on the stoop, his boots squelching awkwardly, Carmen turned to beam at him.

“I can’t wait to see it,” she gushed. “Let’s go in!”

“Should we?” Dean intoned to Balthazar as Carmen charged ahead.

“Yes, you really should,” said Balthazar, somehow looking both incredibly smug and justifiably angry at the same time. He quickly put Dean out of his misery, though. “We had forty master craftsmen working through the night. One of them was eighty.”

Dean’s jaw dropped. “Why didn’t you just tell her?” he asked.

“When Carmen Porter wants to go to the wonderland that inspired her rockstar fiancée’s music, you take her there,” Balthazar replied. “You’ve never been to Isle la Motte, have you? Did you google the entire album? Did you even write it, or do I have someone else to blame for all of the guild work we had to do?”

“Um, both?” Dean grimaced. 

Balthazar scoffed.

Dean pursed his lips. “You know, you’re the first person ever to have a problem with that.”

“I need some air,” Balthzar said as he stepped outside and shut the door. 

But Dean didn’t have time to wallow in self-pity. As soon as Balthazar left, Hannah came in to go over the plan for the next few days. Prep tomorrow, wedding the next day, don’t tell anyone who you are, Balthazar says “wear a hat, Bon Jovi,” if anyone asks it’s a marketing conference, dinner will be ready in a half hour you better go wash up. By the time she was done, Dean felt ready for bed. Great.

…

The next morning, Dean felt a lot better about things. The castle actually looked incredible in daylight, and Carmen couldn’t be happier. She pulled him excitedly into the library after breakfast to show him the Vonnegut set up next to the guitars someone must have sent for. He was impressed. Who would have thought Balthazar could ever actually help him. And Carmen looked absolutely radiant in the silk nightdress he could just see beneath her robe.

“Are you sure it’s bad luck to have sex the day before the wedding?” he asked.

“I hate it when you beg for sex,” she said, but she smiled as she left to change for her run.

…

After a while, Dean got tired of waiting for Carmen to come back from her run with Hannah. He had already picked up and put down half of the books in the library and took a turn on each of the guitars. The weather looked nice, so he decided to take a walk through this island he was supposed to know. He set out in a random direction, getting lost in thoughts about the wedding tomorrow. Sam was gonna be pissed they were doing it without him. But Carmen didn’t want paparazzi, surely he would understand that? He would have to. 

Dean didn’t even realize it had started to rain until the downpour was already underway. It was a stroke of amazing good luck that there happened to be a little building just up the road from where he was. He hurried towards it, cursing his idiocy for taking a walk. Nothing good ever comes from exercise. He pulled the creaky door open and stepped inside, shaking out his soaked jacket and breathing a sigh of relief. He looked around the dusty shack, trying to figure out what this place was. It was mostly empty and very dark. 

“Hello?” he called. There was no reply. Until

“Mooooooooooo!”

What the hell?

“MOOOO.”

“Okay,” Dean said aloud. “Pretty sure that ain’t a real cow, unless it’s got ahold of a kazoo.” He walked towards the sound until he saw a door in the corner creak open. Someone stepped out of it.

“A kazoo? I don’t think my voice is that high,” the someone said. He had dark hair and startlingly blue eyes, and his voice was certainly *not* high.

“Uh,” Dean started, but it came out at a much higher register than he would have preferred, and he cleared his throat.

“Sorry!” blue-eyes said. “I thought you were someone else. I was just pretending to be the ghost of this cow.” He smiled sheepishly. “That sounds stupid, doesn’t it.”

“No, not at all,” Dean said, gruffly. “Sorry to barge in on you, from the outside it looks like your… home… might be… open to the public…”

The man squinted adorably. No, not adorably. Weirdly. 

“My home?” he repeated.

“You don’t live here?” Dean asked.

“Not in this public bathroom, no,” he replied. “Here we live in primitive dwellings anthropologists like to call ‘homes.’”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Dean said. “I’ve… spent a lot of time with… hermits.” He winced.

“For someone supposedly in marketing, you’re not very good at lying.” 

Dean couldn’t tell, but it looked like the guy might be smirking.

“I’m new,” he said, trying to smirk back.

“Castiel,” the guy said, extending his hand.

“I’m… Lee Ermey,” Dean lied, grasping Castiel’s hand firmly to cover his discomfort. And if he held on a bit longer than necessary in his effort to seem genuine, he didn’t really think about it. 

The rain let up not long after, and Dean accepted Castiel’s offer to walk him back to the castle. He was hopelessly lost, after all. Dean tried to bring up everything he knew about Vermont from the album in an effort to redeem himself. But of course, it backfired. After the fourth time Castiel had to point out his blatant misinformation, it seemed like the guy had finally had enough. 

“Where did you get your information, The Winchesters’ Vermont Album?” Castiel asked.

“What?” Dean froze. Was this guy playing him?

“You know, The Vermont Album. Also known as the only piece of music ever to reference this place? It was a hit here when it came out.”

Dean had to know if this guy knew who he was.

“It’s not the Winchesters’,” Dean said with a frown.

The guy did that little squint again, this time with a head tilt thrown in just to be cute, Dean was sure of it.

“The album,” Dean continued. “It’s a solo album. It’s not the Winchester’s. It’s just...” he hesitated. “It’s just Dean’s.”

“Oh,” Castiel said. “I didn’t know, I’m not really a fan.”

Well that was not what Dean was expecting. “You’re not a fan?” he repeated.

“Well I’m not not a fan,” Castiel went on. “I thought the idea of a story album was a very clever concept, but I didn’t buy the love story. It was just…” He deliberated for a second. “…Soulless.”

“Soulless,” Dean repeated.

“Maybe his next solo album will be better. Is it out yet?”

“No,” Dean grunted. He was suddenly feeling a bit put out.

“Really?” Castiel said. “But, it’s been years. He must be really blocked.”

Dean did not have to listen to this. “Okay, I know where I am now,” he said with false cheer that he really hoped didn’t actually sound like anger. He felt a little bad, because now Castiel looked put out too. As Dean turned to go, the guy suddenly reached out and touched his shoulder.

“I know that you are here for work, but…” Castiel took a breath. “If you ever want to get coffee, I just live at the B&B. Over there.” He gestured with his hand.

Dean was totally taken aback. He didn’t know what to say. “I… have a lot of marketing to do,” he said lamely.

“Right. Okay.” And with that, Castiel was gone and Dean was back to regretting the entire day. Maybe even his entire life. Luckily he really did know the way back to the castle from there and made it back with only minor accidental detours. If he was a little distracted by what had just transpired, that was his right. I mean, the guy had insulted his life’s work! By the time he made it back, it was past dinner time. Hannah was waiting for him just inside the door, looking harried. 

“Carmen doesn’t want to see you,” she started. Dean panicked. It’s not like he had taken the dorky guy up on his offer, he thought. “Bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” Hannah finished.

Oh. Right. 

Dean headed straight for the shower to clear his head.


	3. What the Hell is Going on?

“Well,” Castiel called over the noise of the bells as he swung the door to the B&B open. “You’ll be happy to know that I just made a humungous ass of myself.”

“Cassie!” Gabriel yelled back with exaggerated outrage. “You shut your mouth. We have a guest.”

That did shut Castiel up. They hadn’t had a guest in years. The so-called guest turned out to be a small hairy guy in a monk’s robe, according to Gabriel, who insisted that the guy was “shady.” Gabriel also had a theory that the guy was secretly a journalist here “on a mission of utmost importance,” because he had a fancy camera and was “just plain weird.” Castiel normally did not give Gabriel’s “theories” much weight, so all he did was ask Gabriel if he was sure he had been taking the correct pills and then wheeled him to bed.

When Castiel finally made it to his own room, he sank onto his bed, shaking his head at his life. He was so tired of this. Of everything. He couldn’t stop thinking about the man he’d met that day. He’d been so beautiful. Castiel wasn’t one to care about such superficial things as outward appearance, but he just couldn’t imagine someone more perfect. It bothered him. He thought about it right up until he fell asleep. And by the way he was tossing and turning the whole night, he probably was thinking about it even in sleep, too.

…

Castiel woke up to a banging on his door.

“Cassie, there’s a handsome man here to see you,” Gabriel sang out. Castiel shot out of bed, confused. He pulled on some clothes and opened the door. Gabriel had not waited for him, so Castiel made his way to the kitchen, hurriedly. When he got there, he was surprised to find—not a handsome man, but the four people he had taken to the castle days before. He was even more confused, and it was very early in the morning, and he was not pleased. 

“Hello—Castiel, was it?” Balthazar purred. Castiel glared.

“Yes,” he growled.

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Balthazar said. “I need a favor. I don’t know anyone here and I thought I was royally screwed 12 ways from Sunday and then I remembered. ‘Who was that awful man,’ I said, and Hannah here brought me to you. So you are going to save me or so help me God I will throw money at you until you do. Literally.”

“Now this just got interesting!” squealed Gabriel.

“You, out,” Balthazar said, pointing at Gabriel. Surprisingly, Gabriel actually obliged without so much as poking his tongue out. Which could only mean, Castiel surmised, that he had the kitchen bugged and would be listening from the comfort and safety of his bedroom.

Once Gabriel’s wheelchair could be heard a safe distance away, Balthazar held up a magazine. “This is Carmen Porter. She’s getting married today. Sorry, was getting married today. She’s… missing,” he said delicately. “She’s a very famous actress, who didn’t want the paparazzi at her wedding, yada yada long story short she got wind of a journalist in the area yesterday and is, of course, upset. He’s a very tenacious paparazzi who goes by the name of Marv. Our plan is to trick him by sending in a decoy. He will get pictures of said decoy in the church, leave, and then we can go on with the real wedding according to plan.” He looked at Castiel expectantly.

“Okay,” Castiel said blankly.

Balthazar sighed very loudly. “Is there anyone on this godforsaken island that could pass as a beautiful, tan, 5’11 woman?” he asked.

Castiel burst out laughing. 

“Unfortunately, this is a very serious matter,” Balthazar spit out.

Castiel gasped for breath. “I’m sorry, no. There are about 20 women under 50 on this island, all of which are married and none of which are over 5’5’’. I’m sorry.”

Balthazar huffed. And then suddenly, he got a positively evil glint in his eye. “How tall are you?” he asked innocently.

“I,” answered Castiel, “am NOT going to do this.”

“I’ll give you 200 dollars,” Balthazar said.

There was a yelling from the direction of Gabriel’s room that sounded suspiciously like “do it!”

“Sorry, did somebody tell you I’m a prostitute?” Castiel asked.

“500 dollars,” Balthazar said.

“No.”

“5,000 dollars. Come on. One hour, no scenes of a sexual nature. Take the money. You can do something nice for your poor sick brother.”

And that’s how, two hours later, Castiel was walking down the aisle in a wedding dress.

And not only that, either. He was also wearing a very padded bra, presumably one of Carmen’s, which he planned to give to Gabriel to sell on eBay when this was all over. Thankfully he was not in heels, but the veil they had put over his face was so thick that he might as well have been for how poorly he could walk. As Hannah helped him out of the shiny black car and up to the church, she gave him a last minute briefing.

“You can do this. You’re an Oscar-nominated actress. Just walk up the aisle and then do what the priest tells you. Act it out. We think the church is bugged. We’ll try to find the mic and neutralize it as soon as possible but try to take your voice up an octave just in case. Oh yeah, and, the groom doesn’t know. Good luck.”

And then the door was opening and the bridal march was heralding Castiel’s arrival for the second time this week. It was all he could do to make it to the altar unscathed, and even then the groom had to catch him around the waist as he tripped on the miniscule step up. “Carmen, are you alright?” a soft voice asked. Castiel nodded. He had a bad feeling about this.

And then the vows started. 

“I, Dean Winchester,”

WHAT. Castiel’s heart jumped into his throat.

“Take you, Carmen Porter, to be my lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do us part.” 

And then it was Castiel’s turn. He tried to look around, hoping Balthazar or Hannah would step in and save him, but he couldn’t see a thing with this veil.

“I, Carmen Porter,” he started. My voice does not sound good this high, he thought. “take you… Dean Winchester,” he whispered, “to be my lawful wedded husband, to have… and to hold… from this day” Oh screw it, he thought. “Better, worse, rich, poor, sickness, health, death.” He rushed out.

“Who has the rings?” The priest asked.

“Balthazar what the hell is going on?” Dean ground out. 

“Can we skip the ring text?” Balthazar whispered to the priest as he dumped the rings in their hands. 

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

“Okay, who is this?” Dean said as he lifted the veil roughly. Castiel was met with a flash of light and color before his eyes landed on Dean’s face. Their eyes met for one uncomfortable second and then they were both squinting in disbelief. “Toilet guy?” Dean yelled.

“Lee Ermey?” Castiel returned, just as loudly.

“Well thank God we killed the microphone already,” Balthazar drawled. He pointed to Dean. “You, calm down. You”—he pointed to the now-mercifully-unveiled Castiel—“keep facing away from the window, Marv could still be out there.” 

“What THE HELL is going on,” Dean demanded.

“We had to buy time to look for Carmen,” Hannah said calmly. 

“We—Carmen—who’s looking for her?” Dean stuttered.

“You know, the gang,” Balthazar said airily.

“You mean Uriel and the kid? The gang of beauticians?” Dean said incredulously. “I’m gonna go look for her.”

“No you’re not.” Balthazar was livid.

“Can I have my clothes and my check please?” Castiel cut in.

“There might be wolves out there,” Dean spluttered.

“Oh you’re absolutely right, I wasn’t thinking straight,” Balthazar sneered.

“My brother is expecting me,” Castiel said.

“EVERYBODY STOP,” Hannah suddenly yelped from the window. “Balthazar. It’s the press.”

“Shit,” Balthazar breathed. “How did they find us? Okay, new plan. Ev—put the veil down!” he said, batting at Castiel’s head. “The plan is, everybody run for the car.”

So they did. They packed into the car hurriedly, and made their way to the castle with the press hot on their tail. Balthazar explained that once they got to the castle everyone would expect them to stay there, so they would be able to slip out the back way. Balthazar rushed Dean and Castiel out of the car, into the castle, and up the stairs. 

“This way, this is the back way out,” Balthazar said, pointing. But when they went where he directed it was to find themselves in a small room with the door locked behind them. Dean banged on the door. 

“Son of a BITCH,” he yelled.

“Balthazar, you said ONE HOUR,” Castiel yelled. “I HELPED you. 

“Yes yes, you were an angel in a dirty trench coat,” Balthazar retorted. “Dean this is for your own good.”

“I AM NOT going to be stuck in here with this—this TOILET ATTENDANT!” Dean yelled.

“I am not a toilet attendant,” Castiel said through clenched teeth. “And I did tell you my name.”

“Oh, if only I could remember your name, then we’d be saved,” Dean bit out.

“Sorry, I forgot, it’s cruel to give names to the help, isn’t it. Don’t want to get too attached.” 

“Wow, give you a white dress and suddenly everything’s about you.”

“Dean! You were going to be left at the altar. You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of PR hell, I can throw you back in.”

“This is not your big day CASTIEL,” Dean frowned.

“Nor yours, apparently,” Castiel retorted. But there wasn’t as much heat in it. They had gotten close in the passion of their anger, and Castiel could reach out and touch him if he wanted. And he looked so sad all of a sudden, Castiel wanted to. But he didn’t. “So you’re a rockstar,” he said instead, turning away. He found himself at a table of giftbags and started pawing through one. It had a copy of the Vermont Album in it. “Are you having a ‘Vermont Album’ themed wedding?” he asked derisively.

“It’s what Carmen wanted,” Dean snapped.

“And you always do what Carmen wants?” Castiel asked. When Dean didn’t reply, he went on. “I guess it could be worse. I could be trapped inside Stephen King’s honeymoon, although apparently he’s a nice guy.”

“How much are they paying you for this? Because I’ll let you know now, I have this code: no cash for ass.”

Castiel didn’t miss a beat. “Oh please,” he said. “If I wanted to fuck you *I’d* be in *your* ass, not the other way around.”

Dean blushed. He stuttered for a few moments and then looked up with a triumphant grin. “Been thinking about it, have you?” he asked. 

But Castiel refused to blush. He wouldn’t give Dean the satisfaction. “You do have a nice ass,” he said, pointing to the gaudy ice sculpture of the happy couple in one corner of the room. Dean’s expression quickly turned from one of mock seduction to one of chagrin.

“Look, try and get this through your thick skull. I’m marrying Carmen. Not you. This is Carmen’s idea of a great wedding. And mine too. You wish this was your wedding,” he sneered.

Castiel rolled his eyes and wandered back to the table, gathering the skirt of the dress so he wouldn’t trip. He knew Dean was watching him. He picked up the CD again, absently looking at the autographed cover. Suddenly he thought of something. “Did you sign the certificate?” he asked.

“Yeah, you saw me do it,” Dean replied. “Why?”

“Well, is that the legal part?” Cas asked. “Back at the church, Hannah just handed it to me… In all the fuss I think I may have signed my own name.”

“So?”

Their eyes met across the room.

…


	4. Who Do You Think You Are?

Outside the castle window, the press were still camped out across the grass. They had even set up tents, and the locals were selling tea and muffins to fight the November chill. But no one was making as much money as one Gabriel Novak. See, every single reporter had had to go through him when they got off the boat. He was the one who had called them, after all. 

But Gabriel wasn’t the only one with a plan. Carmen Porter was not an award-winning actress for nothing, and she wanted answers. Someone ruined her big day and she was going to find out who. Luckily she had been wearing a raincoat when she saw Marv on her run and took off, and she bought a scarf that morning. She bundled up, careful to hide her face, and made her way to the press tents. She asked an old woman who was in charge and was directed towards a man in a wheelchair, who was counting money. She was on her way across the tent towards him when she caught sight of the plague that had started all this. Marv. She had just stopped in front of him, ready to rip him a new one, when she saw what he was doing. He was crying. Into a bottle of jack. 

“Did you not get your picture, then?” she asked him, disguising her voice.

He peered at her through watery eyes. “Do I know you?” he asked. When she shook her head, he turned back to his bottle. “No, I know only her.” He handed her the camera he was cradling, the menu open to pictures of Carmen in a bathing suit. “Did you know she lived in her pool for two weeks before filming ‘The Drowning’? I lived above her in her pool house roof. We’re both obsessive types, you know. Dedicated.”

Carmen stared at the pictures. “You didn’t sell these,” she said.

“They were too personal,” he explained, sighing. “I love her. I didn’t realize it until she had married someone else. Of all the men she could have had, she chose him? They are nothing alike.”

…

Meanwhile, Dean and Cas were still stuck in the castle. Dean had resigned himself to his fate and sat on the edge of the bath with a bottle of champagne in his hand and his feet in the warm water. His black dress pants were rolled to his knees and he sang in between drinks.

“Move over,” Castiel said as he joined him at the edge of the tub.

Dean made a face. “Don’t get the bottom of the dress wet,” he warned.

“Would you like me to take it off?” Castiel asked innocently as he hiked it up his legs.

“Hey you’re not already married, are you?” Dean asked. “I bet that would help.”

“No,” Castiel said, his face hard.

“Oh, you’re not married, but you’re still the musical world authority on what makes a good love story?” Dean asked. “That is, when you’re not cruising toilets for men.”

“I hope she made you sign a pre-nup,” Castiel said.

Dean frowned. “How did they fit you into that dress?” He asked, pulling lightly at the neckline.

“So she did then,” Castiel smiled. “How will that work? When you get divorced, does she get half of all your unfinished songs?”

“I don’t know, how did it work when you got divorced?”

There it is, Dean thought. For the first time, Castiel looked like he might actually lose his cool. Victory. But alas, it was short lived.

“Do you even write your own songs?” Castiel asked, an extra gruff edge to his already deep voice.

Dean didn’t have the energy for this conversation anymore. “No,” he said truthfully. Castiel looked surprised. “Not really. I’m just the pretty face.”

Castiel didn’t know what to say to that.

“You know what, no I’m not. I’m fuckin’ way more than that. And you know what the really great thing about Carmen is, is that she gets that. And I did write some of that album, and I *have* written songs.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it,” Castiel said seriously.

“What?” 

“She thinks you’re a genius. And you’re trying to be one so that you’re good enough to be with Carmen Porter. It’s what’s giving you block.”

“Screw you, man, I don’t even have block,” Dean said.

“Prove it.”

Dean stared at Castiel, at his blue eyes lit up with defiance.

“Fine.” And with that, Dean shoved the champagne bottle into Castiel’s hand and stood up. He slid his wet hands up and down his thighs to dry them and then grabbed a guitar from the corner. He sat in the chair next to the window and Castiel watched him, lifting his thick bare legs out of the tub and turning around so he could get a better view. Dean shifted in his seat and then began to sing:

I saw a modest dream  
The kind that can't speak up  
And lost before it's let out  
In the north we hold our tongues

But down here I believe   
When you pull your hair back it's so easy to see  
This has not been thought through  
There are things that we've done that we cannot undo  
There are things I can't hear when we're telling the truth

At a table out in Bethel  
When I was thirteen  
The criminals were saying  
Liked how I was silent

The cold was the container  
For the sparseness of our speech  
The expression in our hands  
Was all that we'd need

But down here I believe  
That I made a big deal with a girl that can't bleed  
Now I see red and black  
And evening that kills I want to take it back  
An evening that kills and I can't take it back

I'm going home back to Kansas  
I'm so determined   
To lay in lakes and see my sister  
I will hit my brother and hold my mother

This probably won't work out  
We might not live forever  
While there's nothing to confess  
Please pay attention

And I know that it's brief  
There's not nearly enough in one night to have seen  
What you had in your hand  
Was much more than the gold that I let go to grab  
So much more than the gold that I let go to grab

Dean held the last note as he looked up and caught Castiel’s blue eyes on his across the room. The air in the room suddenly went out and Dean shut his mouth and swallowed. The guy was staring at him. Like, definitely, intensely, staring. Dean’s heart rate picked up and he couldn’t do a thing but hold Castiel’s gaze over the guitar in his lap. Finally, he found his voice.

“See? Not blocked,” Dean breathed out.

“I see,” was all Castiel said.

“Well, what do I care anyway,” Dean said. “It doesn’t matter what you think. You’re just some… holy tax accountant.”

Castiel tilted his head (annoyingly, Dean thought). “I’m not a tax accountant. Your speculation on my occupation so far has been very poor.”

“Well tell me then, what is it you do,” Dean said sarcastically, still clutching his guitar.

“I too am a writer of sorts,” Castiel said, taking a swallow of the champagne as he held Dean’s gaze.

“A writer of what,” Dean scoffed, “cereal boxes? Do you write your name over and over in dirt on the backs of trucks?”

“If you must know, I—I write for an online menswear catalog.”

“A menswear catalog?” Dean grinned.

“It’s a very important task,” Castiel said.

“Right,” Dean replied.

“I don’t do it anymore,” Castiel sniped. “I’m currently writing the official guidebook to Isle la Motte, which is much more accurate than certain other accounts of island life.”

“Yeah? Well. Doesn’t that just sound fascinating,” Dean said.

“More, or less fascinating than those?” Castiel asked, gesturing with the hand still holding the champagne bottle to a stack of big cat documentaries on the shelf behind Dean’s head.

“Carmen—and I—like big cat documentaries. Deal with it,” Dean said, setting the guitar down and jumping up to snatch the champagne bottle out of Castiel’s hand. Dean loitered in the space between Castiel’s bare legs, looming over him as he took a swig of the nearly empty bottle. Castiel caught his eyes and held them as Dean let the bottle drop to his side.

Suddenly the door banged open. Dean jumped back in surprise. “Marv?! What are you doing here,” he said.

The man in the doorway stepped into the room and Castiel recognized a monk’s robe. Castiel was surprised: for once Gabriel hadn’t been exaggerating.

“Where’s Carmen?” Marv asked.

“As if I’d tell you,” Dean spat.

“Behind the back of the world’s most fascinating woman, you’re drinking champagne?” He glanced at Castiel. “And cavorting with prostitutes?”

Castiel sighed. “I’m not a prostitute.” He frowned. “I’m his husband.”

“He,” groaned Dean, “is a horrendous mistake.”

“Oh ho ho!” Marv exclaimed. “Well. It looks like I’ve hit on my very own Carmen Porter exclusive,” he said, advancing angrily. Marv lunged for the nearest objects and began to hurl them that Dean. Fortunately for Castiel, who was somehow getting the brunt of the attack, they happened to be stuffed animals.

“Are you gonna fight like a man, or just throw puffins at me?” Dean snarled.

Marv straightened up and stopped throwing. “No,” he said. “I’m going to find her. And when I find her, I will have her.” And with that, he left.

“Like hell you will!” Dean yelled after him. Dean stomped angrily into the hallway, but Marv had already disappeared. Dean was about to follow him when he realized if he went that way, he would be mobbed by the press. He turned around to look for another exit and saw that Castiel had followed him out. 

“Look,” Castiel said, opening the door opposite to the room they had been in. It looked to be some sort of storage room. It didn’t have another exit, but it did have a wide window. Dean hurried inside it, searching for something that could be of use. He caught sight of a rope and stooped to pick it up, grinning. 

“What are you doing,” asked Castiel.

“Ever seen Tarzan?” Dean replied, tying the rope and letting it out the window. Two stories below sat the lake and a little boat. “Well, it’s been a pleasure,” Dean said with a grin. And he took the rope in his hands and climbed out. 

“You are not leaving me,” Castiel hissed, and he hiked the dress around his thighs and climbed after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song I had Dean sing in this is a real song. It's called "New Hampshire" by Matt Pond. (Obviously I changed the word New Hampshire to Kansas). I don't imagine Dean's song sounding much like the real one at all, I just loved the lyrics.


	5. Why Are We Like This?

As Dean stepped carefully into the rowboat, he looked up to see a flash of white. The dorky little guy was actually trying to follow him! Dean stomped his foot. “Don’t be stupid,” he hissed at the form above him. “There’s water in the boat, you’re gonna get the dress wet.”

The guy showed no signs of stopping. “Suit yourself,” Dean said. “I’m leaving.” And he sat down and picked up the oars. He hadn’t moved more than a foot before he heard a shout and a splash. He turned around just in time to see a streak of white hitting the water. “Son of a bitch,” he breathed. He shook his head as he waited for Castiel to surface. What was taking him so long? Dean turned around to search for signs of his dark head. He should have surfaced by now. “Crap,” Dean said. And then he took a deep breath and dove in.

The water was dark, but Dean could see the tell-tale glow of white just below him. He surged toward it, grasping Castiel’s arm and trying to pull him upwards. But the dress was caught on something. The low-visibility was not helping, and Dean struggled with whatever was holding Castiel down for a while before he finally just grabbed the fabric and tore. They had been down there much too long. Dean grabbed Castiel around the waist and heaved him toward the surface. Dean emerged from the water gasping for breath and made for the bank, tugging Castiel’s limp body along with him. Once they were on dry land, Dean laid Castiel on his back and gripped his shoulders.

“Cas,” he cried, shaking him slightly. When there was no response, Dean tilted Castiel’s head back and started CPR. Just as Dean’s lips met Castiel’s, he felt him convulse underneath him. Dean hurriedly shoved Castiel onto his side and patted his back helplessly as Castiel began to cough up the water he had swallowed.

When Castiel was done coughing, he settled back against Dean’s comforting body. And then he felt the cold ground against his bare legs. He looked down at the ruined mess and then up at Dean. “I think I got the dress wet,” he said.

Dean laughed, gripping Castiel tighter against himself. Castiel joined him.

“Thank you for saving me,” Castiel said, his blue eyes earnest.

“I’m uh, sorry you almost drowned,” Dean said.

“Don’t be,” Castiel replied. “My life flashed before my eyes and halfway through I was just bored. Being drowned was a highlight.”

Dean smiled. “Me too, actually,” he said. “Nice to do something productive for once.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“You were right about me,” Castiel finally sighed. “I am a loser.”

“Well, you were right about my album being soulless. And about me being blocked,” Dean admitted. “So I guess I’m the bigger loser.”

“I’d have to disagree,” Castiel said. “I’m definitely the bigger loser.”

“Oh, not by a long shot!” Dean insisted.

“Is this a normal thing to get competitive about?” Castiel asked.

…

Carmen had been trying to reach Dean for what felt like hours. There was no way she could get into the castle unseen with the press mob out front. She had borrowed a cellphone from the man in the wheelchair, but she kept getting Dean’s voicemail. Finally she decided to leave a message.

“Dean, I can’t get into the castle. I’m sorry. You know in your song, the place where they kiss? Meet me there. Bring the priest and the rings. I love you… I do love you.” She hung up the phone and returned it to the waiting Gabriel. 

“Thank you for the phone,” she said. “I’d really like to return the favor. Can I push you home?” she asked.

“Well, I’d have to be an idiot to say no to that,” Gabriel replied, smiling.

…

Dean shivered as Castiel opened the door to the B&B with shaking fingers. They had hightailed it to the inn once they realized they were probably cold enough to catch hypothermia. It was a miracle they made it without being seen.

The bells that rang out when the door opened didn’t even faze Castiel anymore, but they gave Dean a bit of a fright. After making sure Dean was okay, Castiel rushed inside to start the fire. He knelt down in front of the fireplace, not even bothering to make sure the wedding-dress-turned-mini-dress continued to cover his ass. Dean closed the door behind them and wandered in after, carefully avoiding staring at Castiel’s thick lower half and instead awkwardly looking around while he toed off his shoes. It was kind of a nice place. Very homey for a hotel-type.

Castiel straightened up and Dean turned to face him.

“I’ll go get some towels,” Castiel said. “We need to undress and get dry.” And with that, he disappeared around the corner. Dean shrugged out of his jacket somewhat stiffly and pulled off his tie. Then he started on the buttons of his shirt. By the time he had managed all of them and was shimmying the wet fabric down his arms, Castiel had reappeared in the doorway. Their eyes met briefly before Castiel averted his and strode forward, thrusting a large towel in Dean’s general direction. Dean took it and then watched as Castiel carried his own towel a good few paces away and set it down on the arm of a chair. Dean peeled his wet pants down to his ankles and then shoved them past his feet along with his soaked socks. He stood and considered his underwear. Probably best to leave it on, he thought.

He chanced a glance over at Castiel, who was apparently considering Dean’s underwear as well. “Guitars?” he asked, motioning at the print. 

Dean looked down. “Christmas present from Carmen. She thought they might help with the writing,” he said, shaking his head.

Castiel raised his eyebrows and continued struggling with the buttons on the back of the dress. He huffed and then looked up, meeting Dean’s gaze and holding it before finally turning around and motioning for help. Dean stepped up behind him and Castiel let his hands fall down by his bare thighs. Dean got started on the buttons, which turned out to actually not be buttons at all, but rather intricate clasps that required him to put one hand against the skin of Castiel’s back while the other pulled the fabric tight against the muscle there. Dean got the hang of it fairly quickly, but he had to stand very close behind the other man to get the leverage he needed. He worked his way down Castiel’s back slowly, his hands trembling and his breath coming out in shuddering bursts that he knew Castiel could feel against the back of his neck. He undid the clasps all the way down, past the line of Castiel’s white boxers, which he tried and failed not to notice were soaked all the way through to the point of transparency and clung to his skin in way that was absolutely not making him shiver all the more. When the clasps were all undone, Dean trailed his hand up Castiel’s back to the clasp of the bra. He undid that one too, gently and slowly. The two of them stood there for a moment more until Dean gave his head a little shake and then stepped back. He picked up his towel and retreated to the fire, which was now crackling invitingly. Soon Castiel had picked up his own towel and joined him.

“I don’t think we should shower,” Castiel said, staring into the flames. Dean looked up. “It can get you too hot, too fast,” Castiel explained. “We could have hypothermia.”

“Well, what are you supposed to do for someone who might have hypothermia?” Dean asked.

Castiel sighed. “Close your eyes,” he said. Dean did. He couldn’t see what Castiel was doing, but by the sound of it he was undressing the rest of the way. When Castiel told him he could open them again, it was to see Castiel with the towel wrapped around his waist and a bundle of blankets in his arms, the boxers discarded on the floor. “Now you,” Castiel said, screwing his eyes shut. Dean obliged, feeling oddly vulnerable for someone who knew no one was looking. “Alright,” he said gruffly when he had the towel secured around his bare body. Castiel opened his eyes and offered a big blanket.

“When someone has hypothermia, you’re supposed to share body heat,” he said. And with that he sat down in front of the fire and looked up expectantly. There was just nothing for Dean to do except sink down next to him and spread the blanket around both their shoulders. Castiel distributed the remaining blankets and then settled into Dean, their bodies connecting in a line down one side.

“And I’ve heard that you’re supposed to ask them questions,” Castiel added, almost like an afterthought. “To make sure they’re okay.”

Dean swallowed and nodded to show he understood. “What’s this,” he asked, pointing to a poster on the wall that read ‘Carver Edlund’ over a picture of a man in plaid pants and a leather jacket holding a guitar.

“That,” said Castiel, “is my father. He left. We don’t talk about him.”

“Oh,” Dean grunted. “Sounds familiar. And this?” he asked, pointing to a calendar set to the month of April and featuring a naked man in a tub who was clearly uncomfortable and holding a giant rubber duck over his lap. “April really is the cruelest month,” he said.

“Poor Inias,” Castiel laughed. 

“Oh,” Dean said suddenly. “Is he your—“

“No,” Castiel interrupted. “Probably should have been. But according to my brother Gabriel, I only go for artist types with commitment issues.” He shrugged. “My ex-wife was a writer. She has a popular short story, you might have heard of it. It’s called ‘Bed Hopper.’”

“So the clues were there,” Dean said.

Castiel looked down. “I thought it was ironic. But then, I also thought she liked men who give intelligent feedback. She told me I was just one chapter, not a whole book.”

Dean put a comforting hand on Castiel’s back and they shifted closer together.

“I’m done with relationships,” Castiel murmured. “They say it’s when you stop looking that you—”

“Get married?” Dean finished.

“Actually, this marriage has been surprisingly bearable,” Castiel said. “At least the fact that you’re going to leave me for another woman has been agreed in advance.” He paused. “What’s she like? I suppose she’s just like anyone else?”

“No,” Dean said. “No, she’s rare. And beautiful, and modest. And generous. And really really nice. And good. At everything.”

“Well can she do this?” Castiel asked, grabbing a spoon from the side table nearby and huffing a breath at it before sticking it onto his nose and letting it hang, suspended in the air.

“Uh, I don’t think so,” Dean said, grinning.

…

“You really don’t have to do this,” Gabriel said to the woman pushing his wheelchair very roughly across the grass. 

“Yes I do,” the woman said, coming to a stop and stepping in front of him. She pulled off her large scarf and took down the hood of her raincoat and Gabriel gasped.

“I thought you were wonderful in ‘The Wolf and the Moon,’” Gabriel said.

“So. Thank you for getting the word out about my wedding,” Carmen said. 

“How did it go?” Gabriel asked.

“It didn’t. Thanks to you.” She pushed the wheelchair right to the side of the cliff they had been walking beside. “Throw the money over,” she said. Gabriel looked horrified. “The money or the wheelchair with you in it,” she amended. Gabriel just hugged the money to his chest. “Did you hear me?” Carmen asked.

“Yes,” Gabriel squeaked. “I’m thinking.”

She stepped to the side and glared at him. Slowly, he let the money flutter through his fingers and into the lake below. Carmen stepped back behind the wheelchair and turned it around, back towards the B&B.

“I’m sorry I sold your story,” Gabriel said. “I need to get off this island, and soon. I need to see the world and be thrown into a volcano. It’s my destiny.”

“Oh my God,” Carmen said. “I just realized who you are. You’re James! From the Vermont Album. Dean based him off you!”

“Sure did,” Gabriel lied. “Me and Dean-o, we go way back.”

“You have been such an inspiration to me,” Carmen said.

“Thanks,” Gabriel replied, smiling.

…

Once Dean and Castiel were sure they had warmed up enough, they decided to get up and get dressed. Castiel explained that his suitcase had been lost, but luckily the first thing he bought when he got home was a ten-pack of underwear. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any extra clothes of his own, and Gabriel’s would never fit Dean. They finally decided to go with the plaid pants and leather jacket combo from the picture of Castiel’s dad, partly because they happened to be the right size, and partly because Castiel just thought it was funny.

They were in the kitchen drinking one last tea when the bells sounded at the door.

“Cassie,” Gabriel yelled, “there’s money on Whale Beach, enough for us to go away. But we have to get down there before someone else finds it.” He wheeled into the kitchen and stopped dead in his tracks. “Dad?” he said.

“No Gabriel,” Castiel said. “This is my husband.”

“Your husband,” Gabriel repeated.

“It’s been a weird day,” Castiel said.

“Dean,” Dean said, waving.

“Is this Toilet Man?” Gabriel asked.

“What?” Castiel mumbled.

“You know,” Gabriel continued obstinately, “the man you made a pass at in the public toilet. You were right, he is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen! Does he have a brother?”

“Why is there money on Whale Beach?” Castiel interrupted.

“Oh, Carmen Porter made me throw the money I got from selling her wedding off the cliff. She’s not married, she’s on her way to the pink lighthouse to meet Dean…” Gabriel blanched. “Dean Winchester?” he asked, looking at Dean.

Dean’s shocked look morphed into a sneer. “Very clever,” he said. “So I guess you engineered this whole thing?” He turned to Castiel, who was shaking his head in disbelief. “One big bag of cash for telling the press, another for playing the decoy, and a third to set the record straight. Quite an industry you’ve made out of ruining other people’s happiness. Making cow eyes at me for hours to add a little spice to the story—”

“No, Dean, that’s not—” Castiel tried.

“I gotta tell ya sweetheart, for a honey trap to work, there needs to be honey.” And with that, Dean stormed past Castiel and Gabriel and out the door, the bells chiming merrily behind him.


	6. What if?

A few minutes later, Castiel was still sitting at the kitchen table forlornly. Gabriel wheeled over to him. 

“Do you like him?” Gabriel asked.

Castiel looked up. “He’s an emotionally distant, tragic but beautiful rockstar who’s in love with someone else. Of course I like him.”

“Did you tell him?” Gabriel pressed.

Castiel was silent.

“A life spent making mistakes is much better than a life spent doing nothing,” Gabriel said. When Castiel frowned, Gabriel continued. “We can always hang a big photo of him up on the wall and you can throw darts at it for the rest of your life.”

Castiel frowned harder.

“Go get ‘im, loverboy!” Gabriel called as he wheeled away.

…

Dean had no idea where he was. He’d just picked a direction when he stormed out of the B&B, and had so far only been able to find more houses.

“Where do these stupid… people… kiss,” he groaned in between kicking rocks. Finally he decided to just go and knock on a door.

“Excuse me,” he said when an older woman opened the door. “I’m hoping you can help me. I’m lost.”

The woman ushered him in with a wide smile. Once inside, he saw an older man sitting on the couch. 

“I’m looking for the pink lighthouse?” Dean said.

But the woman just tapped the man on the arm and gestured excitedly at Dean.

“Oh great,” Dean muttered. “I’ve been recognized. Yeah, I’m Dean Winchester,” he said. “I’m marrying Carmen Porter. Probably. But if you could try not to it mention to anyone, and please don’t call the press.”

The woman handed him an album. 

“Okay,” Dean said, and grabbed the pen the man held out to sign it. And then he looked down at the cover. “Oh no, that’s not me,” he said, shaking his head at the woman. It was Carver Edlund’s album, the one where he wore the outfit Dean now had on. But the woman just patted the album again. “Okay, who to?” Dean asked. There was no response. “I’ll just leave it blank for eBay,” Dean said, signing. He handed the album back. “If you just have a map I could borrow?” the old man was digging in the closet, but what he returned with wasn’t a map. It was a guitar. The man pressed it gently into Dean’s hands, smiling. Dean took it with a frown. Before he even began to play, the couple had moved to the center of the room and began to dance. Dean hurriedly strapped the guitar on and made to play, but before he began he realized what was going on.

“You’re deaf,” he said to the room. “Both deaf. Huh. That’s kind of… beautiful.” 

The woman caught sight of him standing still and motioned for him to play.

“Okay,” Dean said, “one more,” and he smiled.

…

The ground was still soft from the downpour the day before, and Castiel had no problem following Dean’s footsteps. He had no idea what he was going to say, in fact he was actively avoiding thinking about it. First he had to find Dean. Then he would worry about wooing him.

Castiel heard the guitar from the lane outside and instantly knew it was Dean. He walked up to the house and rang the doorbell, which he knew was rigged up to flag inside so that it could be seen instead of heard. After a few seconds, the door opened.

“Hi Rebecca, Hi Caleb,” he signed. “I heard my husband playing the guitar.”

Rebecca and Caleb looked at each other and then back to Castiel.

“It’s a long story,” Castiel signed, pulling a face. 

“Thank you,” Dean called from inside, hurriedly putting down the guitar and heading to the door. “I was just coming back to find you.”

“Really?” Castiel asked, letting his hands fall to his sides.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “We need to get divorced.”

“Yes, of course,” Castiel said hastily. “We should find the minister. He’ll know what to do.”

…

Gabriel was sitting in his bedroom deliberating who he could call to retrieve his money from the lake when there was a knock on the door. “Come in!” he yelled, wheeling out to the kitchen. Balthazar and Hannah stepped in, resolutely ignoring the chime of the bells as they did.

“Why hello,” Gabriel said cheerily. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Balthazar sighed. “Alright, here’s the deal. Dean and Castiel are missing. I don’t know anything about this island, I thought ‘we’ll never find them,’ but then I remembered. ‘Who was that awful man,’ I said, and Hannah here brought me to you.”

“I don’t know where any of them are. No one’s been here,” Gabriel said innocently.

“Yeah, see, I just don’t believe you,” Balthazar said, eyeing the discarded clothes laid out beside the fire. “I think you know where they are, and I think for the right price, you’ll tell me.”

…

Dean and Castiel walked to the minister’s house in uncomfortable silence. The muddy lawns all blended into one another and the already darkening sky was just starting to get some color.

Castiel sighed. “I didn’t sell your wedding,” he said. “Gabriel did. He’s dying, and a bit pissed off about it.”

“Oh,” Dean replied. “I’m sorry.”

“He just wants to see the world before he goes.”

They walked in silence for a bit more before Castiel tried again.

“There’s something about islands, isn’t there,” he said, staring off at the horizon. “Or is it just that I’m from one?”

“No, there’s something about islands,” Dean replied.

“And we’re just the ‘plain jane’ of the islands on Lake Champlain,” Castiel continued, lifting his hands to make air quotes. “You should see the others.”

“I like this one,” Dean said defiantly. And then he looked down shyly. “It’s beautiful. I wish I’d come here sooner.”

Castiel stopped walking and turned to stare at Dean. He opened his mouth to say something but before he could, the tension was broken by a sudden shouting.

“You stay away from him, you… you sugar daddy!”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up as the yelling man started charging towards him.

“Inias!” Castiel shouted.

“The dude from the calendar?” Dean asked.

“Inias, don’t,” Castiel said, grabbing Inias’s arm. 

Inias turned to look at Castiel. “Run away with me,” he said hurriedly. “I never thought I had a chance with you and then you came back and… marry me,” he finished.

“You’re married to Bartholomew,” Castiel said, eyes narrowed.

“But I don’t want him,” Inias said. “I never wanted him, I always wanted you.”

“What a shame,” Dean cut in. “You’re married, he’s married,” he said, gesturing to Castiel. “What a tragedy.”

“He’s married?” Inias said. “To who?”

“To me,” Dean growled, stepping closer.

“Is that true?” Inias asked Castiel. Castiel nodded. “Okay,” he said. He turned back to Dean. “I’ll fight you for him.”

“What?” Dean said.

“I win, I get to keep him,” Inias said.

Dean scoffed. “Hoo, buddy,” he said. “I’d love to see you try.”

“No, you will not,” Castiel said, stepping between the two men and putting his hand on Inias’s chest.

“I wanted to grow old with you,” Inias begged. “You’re beautiful and clever now, it’s easy to love you now. But I’ll still love you when the wind’s dried you out. When you’re old and broken. Will he?”

Inias looked into Castiel’s eyes and Castiel looked away. “I’m sorry Inias,” Castiel said. “Go back to Bartholomew. He loves you. It’s better when people love you back.”

“So you love him, then,” Inias said. Castiel backed away, avoiding the question almost as well as he was avoiding Dean’s gaze. He turned and set off towards the minister’s house, Dean following behind.

…

“Only married five minutes and already chasing after somebody else, eh?” The minister said, doubtingly, rubbing the back of his nearly bald head. “Why not give this marriage a go, first?

“Because the woman he’s engaged to is Carmen Porter,” Castiel said, attempting a smile. “She’s an actress. Beautiful, talented… and rare, and modest, and good at everything.”

“But he’s married to you,” said the minister.

“Exactly,” Castiel replied. “I’m just me. I’m ordinary.”

Dean turned to face Castiel from his seat next to him on the minister’s sagging grey couch. “You’re not ordinary,” he said. 

“Could be Miss Universe with a Nobel Peace Prize and still be wrong for somebody,” the minister said. “Weddings are like sunsets; the romance of a moment. Marriage is the sea into which that red sun sets.”

“We got married by mistake,” Castiel pointed out.

“Probably not the strongest basis for an enduring marriage,” the minister admitted.

“No,” Dean replied. 

“Well,” the minister said. “In that case, there’s an easy fix. We’ve got an old law here that says if you revoke the marriage on the same day, the marriage doesn’t count. If we can make it to the lighthouse before nightfall, your license with Miss Porter will still be valid and you can proceed with the original ceremony as planned. If that’s what you really want.”

“How long until nightfall?” Dean asked

“About a half hour,” Castiel answered.

“Oh, one last thing,” the minister amended. “Has the marriage been consummated?”

“No,” Castiel sighed.

“Haven’t had the time,” Dean said.

…

As Dean and Castiel made their way to the lighthouse, Castiel decided to try one last time.

“How do you know when you’ve met ‘the one,’” he asked. He used the finger quotes again and Dean smiled.

“Whenever you look at them you find yourself singing ‘The Wind Beneath my Wings,’” Dean answered.

Castiel tilted his head and squinted. “Is that what happens when you’re with Carmen?” he said.

Dean sighed. “They asked 10,000 men to name their ideal partner, and 9,800 said Carmen. Statistically that includes at least 800 gay men. If you’re male and Carmen Porter’s interested in you, she’s the one,” he said. “It’s kind of a rule. If you can’t be happy with Carmen Porter, you can’t be happy with anyone.”

…

“Are you sure about this?” the minister asked as he prepared to officiate the un-marriage ceremony. “Because you seem like a good match to me.”

Dean and Castiel nodded, and the minister began.

“Do you, Dean Winchester, take Castiel Novak to be your lawfully wedded spouse?”

“No I do not,” Dean answered seriously.

“And do you, Castiel Novak, take Dean Winchester to be your lawfully wedded spouse?”

“No I do not,” said Castiel sadly. 

“Alright then,” said the minister, eyeing the darkening sky. “Better get the other one, we need to hurry.” 

“Dean, wait,” Castiel said quietly as the minister went to speak with Carmen. “If things don’t work out with Carmen… I mean, she’s perfect, obviously, but she gives you block. So maybe you’re not one of the 9,800. That’s not so impossible, is it? Because then you could… not marry her… then you could stay here, with me.”

Castiel looked up to see Dean’s face. He looked devastated.

“I know,” Castiel finished. “This is where you tell me I’m just one song. Not the whole album.” Castiel took a deep breath and turned and walked away, disappearing into the darkening night.


	7. What Now?

Castiel stepped into the bookstore, his shoes squelching uncomfortably as he did so. He breathed in the familiar scent of books and stale pastries and nodded at the women sitting behind the counter.

“Castiel, you’re back!” exclaimed Muriel. “What has it been, a year?”

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it,” Castiel replied. “I just stopped in to say ‘hi’ and ‘bye.’ I’m on the four o-clock boat.”

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry about your brother,” Hester said, smiling sympathetically. 

“Don’t let *him* hear you say that,” Castiel said. “I’m sure he had this place bugged and is listening from Heaven. He had the time of his life this last year, and wouldn’t let me forget it. Kali the model this, Italians and Parisians that.”

“It was so good of you to travel with him,” Muriel said. 

“Yes, you’re a good man, Charles,” Sheila added.

“Ah it was my pleasure,” Castiel said. “And Carmen’s money. She really is generous, isn’t she.”

“Speaking of, have you heard Dean Winchester’s new album?” Hester asked.

Castiel gave his head a little shake.

“He dedicated it to her, listen to this,” Muriel said, opening the CD and reading the dedication. “’To ‘C’, the only person that could get me to tie the knot. I’m glad I married you.’ Isn’t that just the sweetest?”

“That’s nice,” Castiel said absently, turning to go. 

“Wait, before you leave won’t you sign a couple copies of your guidebook?” Hester called.

But Castiel was already gone.

“Don’t worry,” Sheila said smiling. “He’ll be back.”

…

Castiel was waiting for the boat with his suitcase, resolutely trying to avoid thinking about Dean Winchester. So imagine his surprise when the boat pulled up, and Dean Winchester was on it. Dean grinned when their eyes met, and Castiel stood there frozen while he climbed off.

“What are you doing here?” Castiel asked roughly.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Well Cas, I did try to get your attention in conventional ways. Phones, emails,” he said.

“I’ve been away,” Castiel replied.

“Yeah, and you’re leaving again.”

“Come on then,” the boat driver said. Castiel lifted his suitcase into the boat. 

“Did you hear my new album?” Dean asked hurriedly.

“No,” Castiel admitted.

“You really should have listened to it,” Dean said. Castiel frowned. “So you didn’t see the dedication then,” Dean prodded as Castiel stepped into the boat.

“It’s dedicated to Carmen,” Castiel said, squinting.

“No it’s not,” said Dean. 

The boat started moving away from the shore.

“What?” Castiel shouted.

“It’s not,” Dean yelled frantically.

Castiel scrambled to the front of the boat. “Do you have a copy of Dean Winchester’s new album,” he asked the driver. The driver handed it over and Castiel opened it. He skimmed down the insert until he had passed the part Muriel read earlier.

“P.S.,” it read. “A song CAN be a whole album.”

Castiel’s heart stopped. “Turn around,” he barked at the driver. “Please!”

The driver shrugged and complied. 

When Castiel reached the shore, he couldn’t help but stare at the Dean, still standing there, flannel shirt flapping in the wind. He lifted his suitcase out of the boat and Dean took it from him gently, grazing Castiel’s hand as he did. Dean put the suitcase down next to his own as Castiel climbed out of the boat and stepped into Dean’s space.

“I can’t believe you didn’t listen to my album,” Dean said.

“I couldn’t bring myself to,” Castiel admitted.

“Well I hope you will one day,” Dean replied, looking down. “The whole thing is just one song, and there’s a character in it that… reminds me a lot of you. It’s about a man—a really stupid man—who makes a bad decision and loses somebody amazing from his life, and how he comes to realize that he can’t… he can’t continue living… without him.”

Castiel couldn’t breathe. “And Carmen?” he asked.

“She’s fine,” Dean answered. “We both agreed we weren’t right for each other. We let the press think we were married, but… I only ever married you.”

Dean’s eyes met Castiel’s and they stood there for a moment as the water lapped at their feet.

“I read your guidebook, by the way,” Dean said. “That was really something.”

“Really?” Castiel replied, holding Dean’s gaze and stepping even closer. “I was kind of rude about you in the new edition.”

“Well, I love intelligent feedback,” Dean said, lightly sweeping Castiel’s jaw with his thumb and slipping his fingers into the hair at the base of his neck.

Their faces were now only inches apart. Castiel blinked once and then surged forward, closing the rest of the distance between them in a second. Their lips met softly at first, and then with more heat as Castiel snaked his hands around Dean’s side, clutching his back and pulling him in to his chest. Dean sighed with want and then drew away just enough to rest his forehead against Castiel’s.

“I’m done touring,” Dean whispered. “I want to settle down. We didn’t get much of a chance to be a real couple last time. I thought we could give it a try.”

He pulled away to search Castiel’s face.

“Where were you going?” Dean suddenly asked.

“Singapore,” Castiel answered.

“Well, you should do what you need to do,” Dean said slowly. “If you… need to go to Singapore.”

“I don’t need to leave,” Castiel said.

“You don’t?” Dean confirmed.

“I don’t even want to,” Castiel admitted. “It’s just what I’m used to doing.”

“Then stay,” Dean said, drawing Castiel back in to give him a chaste kiss.

“Okay,” Castiel said, opening his eyes slowly and sliding his hand down Dean’s arm to catch his hand. They walked back to the Sunshine B&B hand-in-hand, dragging their suitcases behind them.

“I’m sorry about Gabriel,” Dean said as they walked.

“I bet he would have liked you,” Castiel replied.

“What are you going to do with the B&B?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said. “I thought about selling it, but it didn’t feel right.”

“Yeah, that would be a pity,” Dean agreed. “You know, Cas, I always wanted to run a B&B. I mean, a Bed and Breakfast in Vermont!”

“Well, maybe I won’t sell then,” Castiel said, smiling. “Although, I have no idea how to run a B&B.”

“Neither do I,” Dean admitted. 

They stopped to look at the dirty, rundown inn in front of them. 

“No big deal,” Dean said. “We’ll make it up as we go.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr at [lunellumcas](lunellumcas.tumblr.com) if you want.


End file.
